The Scary Man Upstairs
by foxystoat
Summary: A short story from the point of view of a customer. Just how oblivious are the people in this town? Sorry, not so good at the summary writing...


A/N: I wrote this at 2 in the morning. So if it's really bad, I apologise. But it's really just a bit of fun, nothing serious. Reviews are welcome, but I'm not really looking for con-crit, I'm not a serious writer or anything. In fact, I'm not really a writer at all... By the way, the person telling the story isn't anybody in particular, just a customer.

The Scary Man Upstairs

Everyday I would visit the pie shop. Didn't matter what time. Breakfast, lunch, supper – or somewhere in between. In 63 days, today being the 63rd, I had paid a visit 62 times. And in 63 days, 62 times had I run home and almost thrown up my meal, if those pies could be classified as such.

Obviously I didn't go there for the pies. No one went there for the pies. You'd have to be completely mad or else have no sense of taste – which I wished dearly for. Because honestly, these pies had to be the worst pies in London.

I knew I was mad for going in there. I wished I could stop. But it had become an addiction, an obsession. No matter how hard I tried, my feet always brought me here, despite the protests of my taste buds and stomach.

Today I visited at 6.33pm. I didn't go in straight away, as I normally did. Looking in the window from a fair distance away, I saw the reason I had currently eaten 62 disgusting, foul pies. My heart fluttered. Then whatever was flying around in there died. A man strode out the door, the bell ringing as he did. My chest tightened as he stared straight at me, or perhaps I imagined it. His face was pale, and his eyes hollow and somewhat hidden. He scared the pants off me to tell the truth.

He silently walked up the stairs, his disheveled hair resembling a skunk disappearing into the room above the pie shop. I waited a moment to make sure he didn't come out again, then made my way towards the front door. I pondered as to why he might have been in there. Surely not for a bit of pie. Or a friendly chat. Normally, he kept to himself, holed away in his room upstairs, occasionally letting in visitors – for a shave that is. He was a frightening man. Wouldn't trust him with a razor near _my_ throat.

I pushed thoughts of barbers and razors from my mind and opened the door. Empty, of course, but I was never surprised. Only thankful that I could be alone with the shop owner. Mrs Lovett.

"Hello there, the usual I suppose?" Mrs Lovett smiled at me. A common greeting. She wasn't one for small talk and I didn't mind at all. I'm not sure I would have been able to get much more than a sentence out.

She seemed particularly happy today and I hoped it had nothing to with the scary man upstairs.

"Yes, thank you," I smiled back, taking a seat in the corner. She nodded and made her way behind the bench and began kneading the dough.

She always made them fresh. Just for me. At least that's what I'd like to think. Most likely, she did the same for every customer. Although, I wondered if I was the only one... Not that it mattered if she handed one to me straight out the oven, it still tasted awful. Tough pastry and slimy, lumpy fillings. Nauseating, it is.

I pretended to look out the window, while staring at the woman currently hitting the pastry violently with her rolling pin. So beautiful, she was. Even with her face and dress covered in flour. Her porcelain skin, wild red hair and sunken, yet merry eyes. They always had a twinkle in them.

I sighed and turned to actually look out the window. A man was walking up the stairs, no doubt for a shave. He was pretty brave, in my opinion.

"There you go, love." Mrs Lovett placed a fresh, steaming pie in front of me. "Hope you like it, I've been trying something new."

For the first time in 63 days, she sat down next to me. I wasn't sure if my ribcage was enough to keep my heart from bursting out of my chest.

"Um..." I hesitated, looking at her.

"Go on, 'ave a taste!" she said, an eager smile on her face. I took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. Mrs Lovett was watching me intently, making me blush.

"Well, what do you think?"

"Mmm, s'actually," I paused to swallow, "Really good!"

"You sound surprised!" Mrs Lovett said, feigning hurt.

"I mean, that is -"

"Only joking. I know my pies is normally awful-tasting, I have tried them meself, you know."

I didn't respond, instead opting to fill my mouth with more pie.

"Which brings me to ask..."

Please don't ask. I shoved more pie into my mouth.

"Why did you bother comin' 'ere every day then?"

I stared at her, trying to chew faster. I swallowed in one gulp, almost choking. Eyes watering, I opened my mouth to speak.

"I -"

_Thump._

We both looked up at the sound.

"What-"

"I'll just go have a quick look, okay love? Be right back..." Mrs Lovett said, not looking at me as she exited. I watched her long ruffled, black dress as she hurried up the stairs.

I shrugged and kept eating my pie.

A/N: Urgh, must have been half asleep when I wrote this (well i was I guess...). I don't know if the ending seems a bit like...there should be more or something but whatever. Also, just a note: I know that she normally baked them in the bakehouse and I don't know how long it takes to bake a pie, just pretend they're super fast baking pies...


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